


We Don't Need To Be Saved

by TheGreenCloak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Depression, M/M, very blunt Draco, very stupid Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenCloak/pseuds/TheGreenCloak
Summary: Harry can see the despair in each pair of eyes he crosses, but he deflects their gaze. They do not exist in his perfect reality and thus he shuts them out. Until Draco Malfoy, the most broken one of all, crosses his path once again. He is the only one who does not want to be saved and so Harry cannot help but want to be his saviour.





	

Draco Malfoy had disappeared over the summer and no one, not even the Daily Prophet, had spotted the youngest of death eaters in those two months of summery bliss. There had of course been rumours, but nothing vast to base one’s opinion on. Some, mainly those who were rooted in Knockturn Alley, had whispered that the Malfoy heir had died a ruthless death of various causes, while others had insinuated, with the necessary flair for dramatics, that all Malfoys had fled to France where they continued to live in disguise and then there had been the rumours flooding out of the headquarters of the Daily Prophet who had insinuated that the young death eater had become possessed by his lust after revenge for his family’s downfall and turned into a dark lord himself to take over the British isles and make the ministry pay for his family’s penalty.

Of course most of these rumours were complete bollocks, founded on nothing but fantasies, but the conclusion of all sayings remained the same, Draco Malfoy was gone and not very likely to return. No one had therefore expected the young pureblood to appear amongst the rather small group of former Hogwarts students who had been requested to return for an eighth year of wizarding education. Nevertheless there he was, staring at Harry Potter with a haunted look hiding somewhere in those grey obtrusive eyes. All wit left Harry’s mind as he stared at the frail body of his former arch nemesis, his eyes raking over the near white skin of Malfoy’s pale face which gave off a surreal blue glow, insinuating at least some form of malnutrition.

Malfoy looked ill. His cheekbones appeared far too pointy, even for a Malfoy, his skin far too pale. His entire body was covered with an oversized black hoodie, except for his legs which were tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans. Malfoy moved his hand to his mouth and only then did Harry notice the cigarette dangling in between Malfoy’s long and elegant fingers. The other man took a long swig from the cigarette and exhaled slowly, allowing the smoke to leave his lips in one large cloud. Harry unconsciously inhaled the dark smoke, his lungs filling with the poisonous gas.

“Smoking is bad for you,” he muttered softly as he stared straight into Malfoy’s motionless eyes, waiting for a change to take place into those large orbs, perhaps even hoping for the usual spark to return to those once livid irises, but nothing happened. Malfoy merely took another swig from his cigarette before breaking all eye contact and returning his gaze to the scenery outside which was changing rapidly due to the quick pace at which the train was moving. Harry left without another word, in search for the carriage where he knew Ron would be waiting for him.

 

Ron looked as devastated as Harry had expected him to look, he had after all lost a beloved brother in the war, but his fallen form gave Harry the chills and he could not help but feel awkward and odd as he took up the seat in front of his best friend. They hadn’t spoken since the Great Argument which had actually been an argument between Ron and Hermione, but in which he had evidently been forced to take part because of his close bond to both and when he had had to take sides he had perhaps taken more to Hermione’s side, who was after all the more rational one of the two, but not without of course giving his other friend the support he needed. He had taken too much to Hermione’s side though, or at least that is what Ron had accused him of and their friendship had been ripped apart without a second notice.

“I...” Harry began, eager to break the heavy silence resting on both their shoulders, but Ron interrupted him by pushing a silver flash in front of his face that reeked of firewhiskey.

“Want some?” he asked, his voice rough as his words seemed somewhat slurred, making it rather obvious that this had not been the first flask that his friend had drunk today. Harry politely declined to which Ron replied with a shrug and a swig from the flask himself.

“I just wish she’d have send a letter, you know what I mean?” Ron spoke once again, his voice seemed a bit more steadfast, strengthened by the extra dose of alcohol, while his eyes appeared even more lifeless. Harry just nodded, his eyes worriedly raking over Ron’s hunched figure. His friend did not deserve to suffer, he had done so much after all. He deserved his happy ending. In a way this reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy, who was smoking in only one carriage away. The thought of Draco Malfoy send his mind reeling however as it always had and Harry discarded all thought of him. It would not do well to dwell after all.

And so Harry took a muggle book out of his bag and opened it where his bookmark had saved his page. His mind became pleasantly placid as a writer whose name he had not even chosen to remember indulged him in the secrets written between the lines, making the ride as bearable as possible so he could ignore the sound of Ron’s teeth clashing against the metal of his flask every time he brought it to his lips as well as the soft noise he made every time a sigh left his mouth. Harry knew that it was wrong to neglect his friend only to minimalize his own worries, but he simply could not be bothered anymore. He had done his share and he was tired of living for others. It was time that they started to learn how to live for themselves.

 

Harry smiled as he entered the great hall once again, it hadn’t been all too long since he’d last been there and yet it seemed like the first time in a decade that his eyes raked over the long tables filled with students. There were a great number less students present than there had been in Harry’s first year though, but that did not stop the first years from oohing and ah-ing at everything they saw. Harry took his place at the very end of the Gryffindor table. He could hear Ron sag down on the seat next to him, but paid him no heed as he turned his head to Dean and Seamus who were sitting in front of him, both discussing the chances of the Cannons in the World Cup this year.

“They might actually have a chance this year, their seeker is quite good you know,” Dean said to Seamus as he gave Harry a nod of acknowledgement which Harry returned with a smile.

“Bollocks, their seeker may have a shot, but their chaser is absolute pants at quidditch, they don’t stand a chance against the Harpies,” Harry refuted, mingling into their conversation without a problem. Ron did not say a single word except for the soft sighs leaving his lips every now and then nor did he eat anything, which should have alerted Harry and make his saviour-complex jump up in alarm, but Harry only felt a mild irritation towards his depressed friend. And so he focused all of his attention on the two men in front of him who were more than willing to share their up lifting spirits with him. He did not even notice it when Ron abruptly stood up to leave in the middle of the feast, nor did he notice Draco Malfoy come into the Great Hall when the feast was in full bloom. No, he did not notice either of it, which is exactly why his eyes were trained on both men at both times.

 _Their grief does not exist, your own happiness is the only thing that counts from now on_ , Harry reminded himself.

 

Draco Malfoy kept his eyes cast to the floor as he walked into the Great Hall for the opening feast, the hood of his hoodie covering his hair sufficiently. He did not want to be recognized as a Malfoy, he just wanted to hide in the shadows and quietly get his NEWTs so he at least had a chance at a decent future. He had not wanted to come to the opening feast either, for weeks he had begged Headmistress McGonagall to let him skip the beginning of the year, but his former professor had been relentless. And thus he reluctantly made his way to the very end of the Slytherin table only to notice that he was the only eighth year Slytherin to return.

_There goes blending in._

He cautiously sat down at the rear of the table, keeping his head down all the while so no one would notice the fear in his eyes. His fingers itched for the cigarette pack he knew was hiding in the pockets of his hoodie, but he controlled his urge and placed his long fingers on the table instead. The Headmistress would probably expel him if she spotted him smoking in front of the first years. She should’ve expelled him ages ago though.

He did not move an inch the entire feast, not even when he heard the softly whispering 7th year students mention his name. They had recognized him. Of course they had. He sighed softly as he poked into the treacle tart in front of him. He did not feel like eating, not with the entire Slytherin table watching him. His thoughts floated off to the classes he was supposed to take and so he did not notice the other Slytherin students getting up out of their seats, until he felt his hood being taken down.

_No_

He quickly turned around, his eyes meeting the shocked stare of every student in the great hall, before glaring at the gaping 7th year student who had dared to pull his hood down. He stood up from his seat, easily towering over the terrified student. He flicked his head to the side as a sign that he was in the way and the boy quickly backed away, granting Draco the space he needed to pass. Draco left the Great Hall with his head held high, his eyes trained on the door and his entire body radiating the false superiority he once felt towards all those that were now filling the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

As soon as he reached the tower reserved for the few 8th year students that had been stupid enough to believe they would be granted another chance at education to redeem their name, his hands reached for the thick pack of cigarettes he knew would be waiting for him in his pocket. He lit one up and placed it against his lips, all distress leaving his body as he exhaled the thick smoke. He was still standing in front of them painting that formed the only hindrance between him and the 8th years’ common room, but he could not be arsed to go inside. Soon the others would come in as well and he did not feel like facing any of his former classmates, not now.

 

Harry was still staring at the spot where Draco Malfoy had stood a mere 10 minutes ago. His heart was still hammering against his chest in shock as the image of one very pale and very tense Draco Malfoy flashed through his mind’s eye. Draco had changed over the summer, perhaps even in more ways than Harry could imagine, surely in more ways than he thought possible. Because the Draco Malfoy Harry knew would’ve never dyed his hair black. Nevertheless when the courageously stupid 7th year had pulled down Malfoy’s hood, it had not revealed the familiar mob of pure blonde, nearly white, hair that Harry knew so well, no it had shown a badly cut mob of fluffy black hair, sticking in all directions. Something which Harry had, though difficult to admit even to himself, found more endearing than he had believed possible.


End file.
